


A Practical Guide to Taming Terrible Things

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaejoong and Changmin are a super-popular super-spoiled rockstar duo used to getting anything they want. Yoochun and Yunho are unimpressed lawyer dudes determined to say hell no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the pampered kitten

**_I: the pampered kitten_ **

*

 

"But do we _have_ to," Jaejoong whines, sprawled across a bedazzled beanbag.

 

Manager-hyung gives him a distressed look, running shaky hands through noticeably thinning hair. "You're being sued for copyright infringement, so... yes."

 

Sulking in a dark corner, Changmin looks up from his laptop and warns, eyes demonically black, " _I'm not done with this episode_."

 

Manager-hyung rubs the heel of his palm into one eye socket so hard his other eye bursts a network of capillaries. "...it's the _initial_ hearing—if you lose this case—the royalties alone—god, the punitive damages—"

 

Jaejoong rolls on his belly, scooting the beanbag closer, and takes a nonchalant sip of his iced americano, sucks until there's only ice left, then proffers it at manager-hyung. "Want some?"

 

Teary-eyed, manager-hyung crouches down and desperately grabs Jaejoong's face. "Please. Just the first meeting. Give your depositions and go buy a _yacht_ if you want—"

 

"...I bought one yesterday..."

 

Manager-hyung pauses.

 

"Changmin," he tries, looking sad and ghosting across the room to wedge himself on the couch next to an apathetic Changmin. "Please. A quick deposition and then you can—"

 

" _My episode_."

 

The room cools down by twenty degrees.

 

Jaejoong sighs deeply, feeling entirely too magnanimous, and allows, "Ah, I suppose we can put in a quick appearance."

 

Manager-hyung perks up.

 

"But first," Jaejoong smiles indulgently, chin in hands, skinny elbow sinking into the beanbag, "buy us some panthers."

 

*

 

They roll into an ugly financial building seventeen minutes past schedule, which is fashionably late and therefore perfect.

 

"You _wrote_ the fucking song," Changmin rants, frothing at the mouth, "this is bullshit, I don't want to be here, why are we even fucking—"

 

Jaejoong dangles a piece of hard candy in front of him, sidestepping a bodyguard.

 

"Changmin-ah," he says airily, "the girl's probably just using this as an excuse to spend time with us. It'll be over soon, it's fine, it's fine."

 

Changmin twitches, hands fisted, knuckles white.

 

Their makeup's kinda smudged and their hair's sort of unacceptable, but they've just finished a four hour photoshoot and this is just a meeting with some balding fat scammer dudes and a delusional swindling fangirl, so who gives a shit.

 

One of their bodyguards ushers them out of the elevator and into a polished hallway, delicately dotted with fake plants and paintings of melting triangles.

 

Jaejoong wrinkles his nose and quickens his pace before this level of design faux pas makes him break out in hives.

 

A herd of fat little guys seems to be gathering around a water cooler near one of the spacious corner offices so Jaejoong yawns and checks his watch.

 

He doesn't remember how to actually read the time, on account of the watch having seventeen diamond-encrusted hands, but how dare these dudes keep him waiting.

 

"I wanna go home," Changmin grumbles, slowing his stride. Fussy, he cracks his neck and slicks his bangs back, grunting out an annoyed, "I want—"

 

A guy rounds the corner.

 

He's weirdly not lawyerish.

 

He's actually kind of really fucking tall, with a decent haircut and a flattering pair of glasses and next to Jaejoong, Changmin walks into a wall.

 

The bodyguards scramble.

 

Some of Changmin's makeup transfers onto the white wall.

 

"You're late," the tall dude greets, face set into an unfriendly scowl. "We'll bill the delay under your attorney's retainer."

 

Jaejoong doesn't know what that means so he glances at Changmin to translate.

 

"Yeah," Changmin says, in a weird, flustered way.

 

The tall guy stomps away, trailed by sweaty little fat men.

 

...and Changmin.

 

Left behind with a lone, very confused bodyguard, Jaejoong turns his palms up as if to demand an explanation and an apology.

 

When none comes—surprisingly—he takes a step to catch up.

 

And smacks into something.

 

A deep, suffering sigh sends a wild chill down Jaejoong's spine.

 

Disoriented, he extricates himself from the wall of warmth and steps back, evaluating the obstacle.

 

The obstacle is a homeless guy.

 

He's hunched over, holding a lidless coffee cup, messy locks of dark wavy hair falling out of his even messier ponytail, thick-rimmed glasses askew.

 

"Sorry," he growls unapologetically, wiping drops of coffee off his face.

 

Ah.

 

Somehow touched and humbled by the terrible state of the world, Jaejoong hastily rummages through his pockets and dumps his spare change in the cup then hurries after Changmin, having done his good deed for the month.

 

He enters the room just as the tall guy's slamming a thick folder onto a large shiny desk, droning, "—the song you've registered with the Korean Music Copyright Association is the intellectual property of our client, as per the claim submitted by our office on September 22nd—"

 

Awkwardly, Jaejoong takes a seat next to Changmin.

 

"Yeah," Changmin says obediently, hands in his lap.

 

"Uh," one of their attorneys disagrees, "no... no, as per the counterclaim we filed with the county clerk's office on—"

 

The homeless guy ambles into the room.

 

Jaejoong blinks, baffled.

 

Glowering intensely, the homeless guy sidles up to the tall guy. They exchange a silent look and Jaejoong feels an odd pang of annoyance.

 

"Yunho-ssi," one of the attorneys pleads, sliding a binder across the table, "we would certainly prefer to settle this matter out of court—"

 

"That is our client's preference, as well," this Yunho guy acknowledges, gracefully claiming a chair, "however, regardless of the undue burden on the courts—"

 

"We don't wanna settle," Changmin jumps in defensively, fidgeting with his sleeves.

 

Yunho promptly ignores him.

 

"Since the issue of compensation cannot be discussed until your clients are finished promoting the album," Yunho says, sliding the binder at the homeless guy, "Yoochun-ssi will be monitoring sales and offsetting the marketing costs with regard to—"

 

Jaejoong shifts in his chair, uncomfortable.

 

What kind of stupid name is Yoochun.

 

"This is what you dragged me back from the States for," Yoochun sighs and sits down, examining the pages. "This is a clear-cut case of plagiarism, why are we even—"

 

" _I_ wrote the song," Jaejoong snaps, palming the table. "It's mine."

 

Yoochun pauses, drags his gaze over Jaejoong's hair and face, down to his hands.

 

"Changmin-ssi... Jaejoong-ssi...?" he starts inattentively. "Whichever one you are—"

 

Jaejoong's gut twists with ugly, unpleasant things.

 

"I'm _Jaejoong_ ," he says, super offended, trying not to recoil in horror. "Kim Jaejoong."

 

Yoochun makes a thoughtful face, literal question marks practically fluttering about his head.

 

"Sorry," he shrugs, "I'm not familiar with your work."

 

...all of Asia and parts of the milky way are familiar with Jaejoong's work, what the actual fuck.

 

"I'm Changmin—" Changmin volunteers out of nowhere, picking at invisible lint on his sweater.

 

Yunho ignores him harder.

 

"Back to the matter at hand," he says professionally, flipping through a stack of carbon copies and eventually plucking out a thin piece of paper. "We've collected extensive evidence that our client copyrighted the song first."

 

Bristling, Jaejoong opens his mouth to argue.

 

"She _is_ , however, prepared to make certain concessions about the lyrical accompaniment," Yoochun says informally, casually, arrogantly, "but we should resolve the matter of prior licensing fees before we discuss future expenditures—"

 

He purses his lips as he pauses and the tiny mole tucked above his upper lip catches Jaejoong's attention.

 

Slowly, Jaejoong shifts his gaze to Yunho, who's nodding in approval and patting Yoochun's hand with brotherly affection.

 

He's got the same fucking mole.

 

With a suspicious frown, Jaejoong randomly wonders if they're brothers so he bites his lips and tries to work out the logistics of mole placements, but then he sees the way Yunho's mouth twitches imperceptibly when Yoochun sends him a quick, conspiratorial grin.

 

...possibly incestuous brothers...

 

Ah, not like Jaejoong cares.

 

Like.

 

Jaejoong can have anyone he wants.

 

_Has_ _had_ anyone he's wanted, whenever he's wanted, however he's wanted.

 

He doesn't want... any of this.

 

"Oh, right," Yoochun says suddenly, glancing at his mangled coffee cup, displeased. "Please enter into the record the defendant—" he trails off, contemplative. "I forgot your name again... sorry, let's just go with _primary defendant_ for now." He nods at the stone-faced transcriber typing away in the corner. "The primary defendant acted belligerently with opposing counsel and, at one point, attempted to bribe an officer of the court with a ₩500 coin—"

 

*

 

"How'd it go?" manager-hyung asks cheerfully, holding the door open.

 

Shell-shocked, Jaejoong gets in the car.

 

Changmin crawls in after him, silently buckling himself in.

 

"...okay," manager-hyung winces and hastily gets behind the wheel, drawing the partition and mumbling a conciliatory, "...at least you don't have to show up for the next one..."

 

The back of the car is dark and cold and quiet for a long moment and then Changmin turns his head, eyes dead.

 

"Hyung."

 

Jaejoong meets his gaze.

 

"He ignored me," Changmin says as though an entire continent has sunk into the ocean before his eyes.

 

"You'll live," Jaejoong dismisses him, leaning in to complain, "but more importantly, why did that homeless guy pretend he didn't know who I am."

 

"...hyung, I don't think he's homeless..."

 

"Well, he _looks_ homeless," Jaejoong lectures arrogantly, aiming for a tone capable of conveying how grossed out yet soul-searchingly contemplative he is. "It's really..." he licks his lips, "...just... really unattractive."

 

Changmin narrows his eyes, beastly aura radiating off him.

 

"Hyung. Let's destroy them."

 

A brief, loathsome, uninvited image of that homeless bastard bent over a table flashes behind Jaejoong's eyes.

 

"I want them disbarred," Changmin growls remorselessly, pulling out his phone and dialing their agency.

 

Oh.

 

Right, yeah.

 

Jaejoong totally wants that, too.

 

*

 

They show up at the next appointment at 09:00 sharp.


	2. the rabid koala

**_II: the rabid koala_ **

 

*

  
"He's probably looked me up on naver by now, right."

 

Changmin looks down from a tall bookcase, the roof of his mouth itchy.

 

"Hyung," he suggests reasonably, "just wear a nametag."

 

Outraged, Jaejoong kicks at a stack of books. "I _am_ a nametag."

 

A shiny buckle falls off one of his boots.

 

Changmin doesn't know what the hell Jaejoong's babbling about but he doesn't actually care about his drama, so.

 

Effortlessly, he stretches to grab a thick reference book off the top shelf. It's apparently the only law book in the agency's entire neglected library and it's...

 

...on maritime law.

 

Changmin sighs.

 

It'll do.

 

*

 

"How's my hair."

 

Distracted, Changmin glances at Jaejoong's hair.

 

It's a dying forest of charred sticks.

 

"Are you trying to seduce this dude," he asks suspiciously, repulsed, "or disbar him."

 

Jaejoong pauses as one of their bodyguards hits the call elevator button.

 

"...disbar him?" Jaejoong ventures falteringly as though Changmin didn't sit him down for two hours the night before to drill relevant information and strategic revenge scenarios into his empty head.

 

"You have a _girlfriend_ ," Changmin reminds morosely. "You have three."

 

Jaejoong raises a groomed eyebrow as though this is brand new information to him.

 

Changmin gives up.

 

The elevator door dings and opens and for a breathless moment, Changmin's _sure_ that blind fucker's going to be standing there being all blind and... fucked.

 

But there's only an old lady.

 

Lecherously, she pinches Changmin's butt on the way out.

 

*

 

"You're late," that Yoochun dude says, alone in a large conference room, looking slightly less like a destitute refugee.

 

He's sitting at a round desk, sipping coffee and scribbling shit on a newspaper and Jaejoong's lopsided smile practically gives everyone sunburn.

 

Yeah.

 

Changmin's going to vomit.

 

"Ah, is Yunho-ssi otherwise occupied?" one of their lawyers asks, plopping down opposite a creepy painting of mating bunnies.

 

"It's just me today," Yoochun nods and Changmin almost mobilizes an entire undead army to protest this.

 

"That's not very professional," he accuses, jaw clenched.

 

Not that it really matters.

 

Changmin's not here to see anyone in particular.

 

He's here to deliver evidence. Evidence crucial to the case. Evidence that could get these two motherfuckers disbarred.

 

After all, Changmin didn't obsessively study law for seven hours yesterday because he wanted to impress some stuck-up douchewaffle.

 

He couldn't care less about that guy.

 

Like.

 

He barely even remembers the dude's name.

 

"We should really discuss this with Yunho," Changmin says haughtily.

 

"Yunho- _ssi_ ," one of their attorneys corrects with a nudge to Changmin's side, mortified.

 

Peculiarly bothered, Changmin pulls up a chair.

 

Yoochun meets his eyes on the way down, cocky.

 

"Sorry," he drawls, "regrettably, our ~Yunho- _yah_ is, at present, committed to a previous engagement."

 

Changmin grinds his teeth so hard he feels his metatarsals fracture.

 

But before he can ponder further on the spike in his blood pressure, Jaejoong violently throws himself into a leather chair next to Changmin, flipping his bangs like a mermaid. "Look, unlike you, Yoochun-ssi, we don't have all day, so stop stalling."

 

"Jiyong-ssi—" Yoochun starts patiently, addressing Jaejoong.

 

"IT'S JAEJOONG," Jaejoong snarls, making an ugly face, "MY NAME IS JAEJOONG."

 

Yoochun pauses. "Wait. Then. Which one of you is Jiyong."

 

"Uh, Yoochun-ssi, that's... that's someone from Big Bang," one of Changmin's lawyers coughs, adding a very unnecessary, "that person is not... here."

 

Brows knitted, Yoochun taps a pen to his lips. "Why the hell do I know that name—"

 

" _MY_ _NAME IS THE ONLY ONE YOU SHOULD_ —"

 

Under the table, Changmin embeds his foot into Jaejoong's shin. "We brought hyung's entire discography to prove consistency—"

 

Yoochun extends a hand.

 

"No," Changmin snaps the folder back, "I want to give it to... someone else."

 

Yoochun removes his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose, quietly exasperated.

 

Next to Changmin, Jaejoong fucking moans.

 

"Again, with all due respect, Yunho-ssi is indisposed at the moment," Yoochun says with a gruff exhale, sliding the glasses back on and taking a composed sip of coffee. "However, considering we're _partners_ —"

 

Changmin flares up, accidentally summoning some kind of toxic aura from the deepest pits of hell.

 

"...what kind of partners..." he hears himself ask darkly, noticing his attorneys instantly shrink in their seats.

 

One nervously dabs at a profusely sweating forehead.

 

Nonplussed, Yoochun checks his watch. "Equal-share. Look, if there's nothing else—"

 

"No, there's stuff," Jaejoong starts hastily, gripping the thick edge of the table.

 

"J... Jeh... Defendant-ssi," Yoochun says, clearly struggling to remember Jaejoong's name, "if you feel more comfortable speaking to someone you _didn't_ try to bribe, Yunho-ssi's in his office down the hall, but—"

 

Changmin's on his feet so fast bright white spots blur his vision and threaten to introduce him to the ground.

 

On his way out the door, he vaguely hears Jaejoong demand, "Hand."

 

And then Yoochun asks, "What."

 

"Give me your hand," Jaejoong repeats and unapologetically stamps the back of it with his signature.

 

Not that Changmin really gives a shit his hyung's gone completely fucking gay.

 

'Cause Changmin has to go prove to Yunho that...

 

Something.

 

He was doing something.

 

Oh, right.

 

Discography.

 

Mouth dry, anger appropriately simmering behind a thick wall of nerves, Changmin makes his way down the hallway, guided by a pair of feet that seem to magically know exactly where to go.

 

His bodyguards exchange troubled glances and fall back, whispering awkwardly into their commlinks.

 

Okay.

 

Okay, yesterday, Changmin learned everything about law, ever. So he's got this. He can get this settled within a week and if he can't get Yunho disbarred, he can at least get him suspended from practicing law because, seriously, who the fuck just ignores—

 

Changmin peeks through a partition in the blinds.

 

Yunho's sitting at a small messy desk, resting his chin in his hands, focusing intensely on his monitor.

 

And then he throws his head back and laughs with an obnoxious kind of adorableness, mouth open, eyes crinkled at the corner, bangs bouncing, long fingers curling over his lips.

 

What.

 

What the fuck is this.

 

Who is this embarrassing person.

 

Emboldened and feeling like an idiot for ever getting flustered—not that he ever got flustered—Changmin barges into the room.

 

A familiar melody drifts through the speakers before Yunho slams his laptop shut.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, but no. That's Changmin's anime. That's his _favorite_ anime—and that—the episode that's streaming right now—that he originally meant to watch—but the disbarment—

 

"Changmin-ssi," Yunho greets, face a polished, overbearing mask, "how may I help you."

 

Suddenly confident as fuck, Changmin means to open his mouth and spout off about some kind of failure to comply with the state's licensing requirements and how that can lead to charges and discipline proceedings and a heavy mark on the entire profession.

 

But Yunho rises, eyes dark and deep and delicately slanted under his perfect glasses.

 

So what comes out of Changmin's mouth is:

 

"Hey."

 

No.

 

No, that is not.

 

Changmin knows words. He has a... that thing.

 

A vocabulary.

 

Shit.

 

"In appropriate cases," Changmin recites by rote, "the initial litigation to preserve and protect historic properties located within territorial waters is maintained by the environmental division..."

 

Smiling pleasantly, Yunho cocks his head. "Yes... not quite sure how maritime law relates to your case, Changmin-ssi, but—"

 

" _No_ ," Changmin manages finally, seven sentences behind in the conversation, both in his head and in reality, "I have documents for you."

 

Yunho gives a small, dismissive nod and returns to his desk. "You can file them with our clerk." He pauses. "Or perhaps you should let your attorneys do that."

 

The tone pisses Changmin off.

 

There are two things Changmin hates most in this world, aside from interruptions and kittens: being ignored and being condescended to.

 

Mouth a thin, angry line, he stuffs the folder behind his back and grunts, "I'll bring the documents to your house later."

 

Yunho finally looks at him properly.

 

Then laughs.

 

"There's literally no need for that," he tells Changmin as though Changmin is a tiny stupid child failing all of his classes. "You can just—"

 

"No, I'll drop them off," Changmin offers and wants to shut the fuck up and leave and chalk this one up to the universe being an unfair bitch, but, "where do you live."

 

"...please just send the documents certified-mail to our office..."

 

" _Where do you live_."

 

Brows drawn together, Yunho rises, shoulders broad and menacing.

 

"I can see you're not taking this case _or_ me seriously," he says with authority and Changmin's entire ribcage jolts with interest so hard his abs tighten, "so I would ask you to keep our contact to a minimum and defer to your attorneys for guidance."

 

Changmin bristles, opening his mouth to argue.

 

He can contact whoever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants.

 

"I won't tolerate this kind of childish, immature, entitled behavior," Yunho adds deliberately, "even from a childish, immature, entitled brat like you."

 

Changmin's gut knots.

 

He means to say something, means to say all the things, but his tongue feels like it's made of thorns and barbed wire, so he spins on his heel and stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

 

The blinds rattle.

 

He's halfway down a random corridor by the time his vision clears.

 

With shaking hands, he pulls up a browser on his phone and logs into his favorite shopping site.

 

He needs to calm the fuck down.

 

No one's ever treated him like this, not even when he was a trainee, and if Changmin weren't... coming down with the flu or something, he'd totally be out there committing crimes against humanity on a large scale to get this feeling of worthlessness off himself.

 

Instead, he just plans to buy a metric ton of legos.

 

...as soon as his heart stops trying to ragequit and his hands stop shaking.

 

'Cause, fuck, if Changmin didn't know better, he'd think he's got a fucking _thing_ for Yunho.

 

Which is preposterous.

 

Changmin doesn't like men.

 

Fuck, Changmin doesn't like _anyone_.

 

He pauses to appraise his phone screen.

 

...when the hell did he add handcuffs to his cart.


	3. the lazy puppy

_**III: the lazy puppy** _

 

*

 

"Wake up."

 

Yoochun starts, almost tumbling out of his chair.

 

Displeased, Yunho plucks a magazine off Yoochun's face and slaps his feet off the desk. "I told you not to read porn at the office."

 

Bleary-eyed, Yoochun squints at the magazine.

 

"...it's softcore..."

 

Yunho gives him a _why has Jesus abandoned me_ look. "Did you take on another pro bono case."

 

Yawning, Yoochun stretches, deeply worried about the unholy fragmentizing noise his back insists on generating at random.

 

"I was bored," he criticizes pointedly, throwing an accusatory glare Yunho's way. "You made me fly back for _one_ stupid case—"

 

Sulky, Yunho doesn't falter. "...it's an important case..."

 

With an unimpressed sigh, Yoochun swivels around in the chair, smacking at Yunho's knees on every turn.

 

"Yeah..." he murmurs grumpily, trying to meet Yunho's eyes without accidentally snapping his own neck in the process, "...so... you gonna tell him you've been his fanboy for the past five years or should I."

 

Yunho's professional facade crumbles instantly.

 

Panic sets in.

 

Satisfied, Yoochun stops spinning.

 

"Fan or not—" Yunho tries valiantly.

 

"Fan _boy_..." Yoochun corrects.

 

"FAN or not," Yunho growls, pupils blown, "this is business."

 

Yoochun opens his mouth to argue but he does sort of owe Yunho a favor and Yunho's fucking psycho when it comes to collecting and clearly he's intent on calling _god_ in for this case if need be, so...

 

"I'm gonna go home."

 

Yunho frowns. "You mean the hotel."

 

Grinning, Yoochun shrugs one shoulder, pleased at the worry in Yunho's voice.

 

Yunho purses his lips, glasses sliding down his nose.

 

"Yoochunnie," he pleads, patiently switching gears, "get an apartment already."

 

"Nah," Yoochun waves him off, scuffing his feet across the hardwood floor, toe stepping over Yunho's polished shoe, "when this case is over, I'm gone."

 

He knocks his shoulder into Yunho's on his way out.

 

'Cause he can.

 

Yunho sighs, unaffected.

 

"Listen to hyung," he cajoles obnoxiously, exact mirror opposite of his professional persona.

 

It kind of pisses Yoochun off.

 

Kind of pisses him off a lot.

 

"Last time I listened to you," he points out spitefully, "I had to leave the country."

 

*

 

On Tuesday, Yoochun files an answer to an appeal and drags himself back to his hotel room.

 

By 7:00 PM, he's already napped three times, watched two absurd makjangs, and almost booked a one-way return ticket to the States.

 

...fucking Yunho ruining his sabbatical.

 

Fucking plagiarizing idols.

 

...briefly, Yoochun reevaluates his taste in grammar and basic sentence structure, then yawns at the door.

 

Room service is twenty minutes late.

 

Yoochun doesn't have the energy to complain.

 

Lazily, he waves at the door as though his latent magical powers will beckon a concierge with a massive tray of Yoochun's favorite things.

 

"Come," he commands thoughtfully.

 

There's a soft knock.

 

Hurriedly, Yoochun sits up.

 

There's a louder, substantially more insistent knock, so Yoochun snaps out of it and slips off the bed, scratching the back of his neck and adjusting his loose sweatpants.

 

Mentally shoveling food into his mouth, he pastes a friendly smile, reaches for the doorknob, wraps his fingers around it, and tugs—

 

"Hey."

 

Primary Defendant is standing there, looking like a lavish Christmas ornament.

 

"I wrote you a song," he says softly, earnestly, bangs matted down with rain even though it hasn't rained in two weeks, "I wrote you six."

 

Prudently, Yoochun slowly glances at the back of his hand.

 

The red stamp there hasn't rubbed off yet—has literally refused to budge regardless of how stubbornly Yoochun has scrubbed at it the past few days.

 

And still, the guy's name is just fucking escaping him.

 

Squinting, Yoochun concentrates on the smudge.

 

Oh, right.

 

Jaejoong.

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," he deadpans, conspicuously inspecting the weirdo for possible weapons.

 

Jaejoong's face lights up like a collapsing supernova.

 

Yoochun's eyes kind of hurt.

 

"Say my name again," Jaejoong breathes out, eyeing Yoochun's hand as though he's very pleased he's left an ugly mark, gaze palpably burning a path down Yoochun's bare hipbone.

 

Uncomfortable, Yoochun tries to remember what to dial to connect to an outside line.

 

And the police department.

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," he tries again, hating Yunho.

 

"Louder," Jaejoong says, voice raspy.

 

"What."

 

"Say my name louder."

 

One eye narrowed, Yoochun gradually shuts the door in his face.

 

*

 

On Wednesday, Yoochun provides a free consultation to a sexually-harassed teacher, vengefully flips Yunho off in the hallway, then hauls himself back to the hotel.

 

By 6:00 PM, he's marathoned half a season of Running Man, eaten four rolls of kimbap, and spent an entire hour staring longingly at nonstop flight offers pinging his inbox as though the country's suddenly on high alert and everyone must evacuate.

 

At a discount.

 

By 7:00 PM, he's fresh out of the shower and contemplating a nap atop a nice big desk when a muffled knock echoes through the bathroom.

 

Sleepy, Yoochun runs a towel through his wet hair, scampers out, then carelessly yanks the front door open.

 

"Forgot to give you the songs yesterday," Primary Defendant apologizes boyishly, stuffing a shitload of music sheets at Yoochun, "here."

 

One of the pages cuts Yoochun's chin.

 

"...yeah, look, I'm straight," he reasons, mouth turned down as though he's tasted the most unappetizing thing in the universe.

 

Primary Defendant makes an offended little noise.

 

"Me, too," he promises, flipping his bangs.

 

Is that fucking glitter shedding off him like strings of tinsel.

 

"I'm just trying to prove my innocence," he tells Yoochun, sparkling.

 

Leery, Yoochun slowly kicks the door closed.

 

*

 

By Thursday, the red tattoo-like stain on Yoochun's hand starts to fade and stupidly, he finds himself bent over a red pen, filling in the missing spots.

 

"That's..." Yunho comments pensively in passing, "kinda messed up."

 

"LET ME GO HOME."

 

"GET AN APARTMENT."

 

*

 

Around 7:00 PM, Yoochun pauses.

 

He's stashed the songs under his bed instead of entering them into the record as evidence.

 

Which is dumb.

 

He's also somehow combed his hair.

 

Which is dumber.

 

There's a knock.

 

Steadfastly, Yoochun ignores it.

 

There's a moment of silence and then a scary relentless banging.

 

Hostile, Yoochun stalks across the room and swings the door open.

 

He half-expects Primary Defendant to be standing there with a string of ponies, all, _I brought you a pony; I brought you six_.

 

But the guy's just hovering there, hands in his rhinestoned pockets, hair an almost-albino disaster, face an anguished mess, as though he's just returned from an orphanage in the middle of a warzone during a plague.

 

"What's my name," he asks so sadly a thousand angels freefall from heaven.

 

Yoochun sort of knows his name by now.

 

Which is kind of messed up because it took him a whole year to finally, permanently, lastingly memorize Yunho's name.

 

And they'd _dormed_ together.

 

Still, Yoochun offers a crooked grin and says, "Defendant-ssi, this isn't an appropriate use of—"

 

Visibly frustrated, Jaejoong shifts his weight to one knee, cocking his head to the side, eyes turning dark.

 

" _My name_ ," he demands, voice suddenly low and unforgiving.

 

"Don't you have..." Yoochun starts curiously, unsure as to why he's indulging a melodramatic idol spawn, "a tour or a TV show or something."

 

"Give me your hand."

 

Stupidly, Yoochun does.

 

Jaejoong stamps it five times with his signature, all the way around Yoochun's pale wrist, like slapping him with a bright red handcuff.

 

*

 

On Friday, Yoochun doesn't look at plane tickets.

 

"...yeah, I'm pretty sure he's trying to have sex with you," Yunho laughs over lunch. He sobers instantly. "Yeah. Please don't have sex with him."

 

With a disbelieving snort, Yoochun steals the last piece of Yunho's tonkatsu. "I'm not gonna have sex with a _dude_ , come on."

 

"Well, he doesn't really look like a—" Yunho starts honestly, then tries to pull his face into some sort of a non-douchecanoe expression, slurping his ramyun and poking at Yoochun's abandoned kimchi. "Yoochunnie. Sleeping with him would be a serious conflict of interest—"

 

Yoochun tries not to laugh hysterically.

 

"Yah, hyung," he cackles, chest warm, "Korea's gonna reunify before I _ever_ have sex with that guy."

 

 

*

 

There's no knock at 7:00 PM.

 

*

 

Yoochun is super cranky all Saturday.

 

No fucking reason at all.

 

*

 

Sunday is worse.

 

*

 

On Monday, Yoochun wraps up a pro bono case involving intimidation in the workplace.

 

The client thanks him profusely, sobbing on the cold steps of the district ruling court, and Yoochun kind of doesn't even mind being forced to wear a suit.

 

Feeling accomplished, he goes back to his hotel room, loosens his tie at the door, and faceplants into bed.

 

Sluggishly, his arm drops off the mattress.

 

His fingertips brush the coarse carpet.

 

And then he's pulling out a thick stack of music sheets, eyeing them warily.

 

"Just to count the spelling mistakes," he tells no one in particular and does so with an appropriately dismissive shrug.

 

Within an hour, he's curled around the pages, scowling so hard his eyebrows almost peel off.

 

Who the hell did the bastard plagiarize these songs from.

 

'Cause.

 

There's just no way.

 

Confused, Yoochun sits up, stacking the music sheets.

 

Maybe Yunho's right.

 

Maybe this _is_ an important case.

 

Maybe they're about to bust a whole corrupt industry—

 

There's a loud angry knock.

 

Yoochun's heart leaps to his mouth, threatening to spill over into an excess of lyrics.

 

Blinking, he glances at the clock.

 

3:42 PM.

 

Early today.

 

The knocking intensifies and Yoochun gets his shit together and slinks off the bed and starts toward the door, heart oddly shaky.

 

He almost misses the knob but manages to open the door because he's not a fucking _idiot_ , what the hell—

 

Secondary Defendant is standing there, looking very tall and very maniacal.

 

...yeah.

 

Yoochun definitely needs to get an apartment.

 

With a gate.

 

Undeterred, Secondary Defendant opens his rude mouth and demands ferociously,

 

" _Where does Yunho live_."


	4. the oblivious panda

_**IV: the oblivious panda** _

*

_17:58 clean your apartment_

 

Yunho scowls at his phone.

 

Absentmindedly, he wipes the sweat from his chest with an old t-shirt and chucks it at his messy couch.

 

Why the hell is Yoochun texting him about—

 

Taepoongie struts down the cluttered hallway and, with his fluffy little tail, carelessly knocks a vase off a slanted reading stand.

 

It lands in a pile of socks and frozen dinner boxes.

 

Okay, yeah, Yunho needs to clean his apartment.

 

It's starting to look a bit like a bomb shelter that didn't have a roof during a nuclear blitz. There's unpacked boxes from when he moved in... two years ago, half-opened and covered in dust with tolerably clean spots where Yunho has been randomly scavenging for supplies.

 

There's also a savagely-torn cereal box atop his work desk and a stack of bowls he meant to wash... last week and fuck, it's entirely possible he's left half a raw octopus in the fridge, just haphazardly slapped against a plate of half-peeled eggs, which he may or may not have hard-boiled a month ago.

 

...for a dumb second, Yunho contemplates blackmailing Yoochun to move in with him.

 

But yeah.

 

Not the smartest idea.

 

Pumped from his workout but well on his way to a decent crash-and-burn, Yunho slips into a pair of loose pajama pants and buries his fingers behind Taepoong's ears.

 

He can clean tomorrow.

 

Taepoong's gonna help.

 

Plus, there should probably be a clean... ish shirt somewhere under the couch, right—

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Yunho perks up, then winces.

 

'Cause yeah, Yoochun's going to give him that _how have you not caught leprosy yet_ look.

 

Yunho doesn't totally appreciate that look.

 

Yunho's a professional.

 

Yunho gets shit _done_.

 

Yoochun doesn't.

 

Still, Yunho should probably let him in before the idiot gets cold and asthmatic and ends up dying melodramatically outside of Yunho's cozy little rooftop apartment.

 

Patiently, he lets Taepoong nose by him to sniff suspiciously at the door, then throws it open with an affectionate lopsided grin.

 

"H—"

 

...holy fuck.

 

Shim Changmin, four-time Golden Disk winner, six-time Mnet Awards nominee, badminton enthusiast with a size 46 shoe, the dude whose entire discography is safely tucked away under Yunho's bed alongside his collection of legos—

 

That Shim Changmin is fucking standing on his rooftop.

 

He's also flanked by two bodyguards, large sunglasses hiding half of his face, hair slicked back stylishly and haloed by the setting sun.

 

Instead of instinctively slamming the door in their faces, Yunho manages a civil, "Business hours are over."

 

Oddly stiff, Changmin takes off his sunglasses, mouth slack.

 

He tries to pocket them but misses his tight leather jacket entirely, eyes trained on Yunho's glistening chest.

 

The sunglasses clatter to the floor.

 

Changmin's gaze drops woefully, hands limp at his sides.

 

One of the bodyguards glances away, looking oddly mortified. The other one flinches, cheeks dark, and gingerly nudges Changmin's elbow.

 

Changmin glances up with a helpless kind of wonder.

 

Yunho feels a smile tug at his lips.

 

What a cute little kid.

 

Probably on all kinds of drugs, but still.

 

"Changmin-ssi," Yunho starts kindly because, sure, he likes the guy's music—kind of a lot—but not enough to compromise his case by indulging his random bratty outbursts, "our next appointment isn't scheduled until November—"

 

"Let me in."

 

"With all due respect," Yunho deflects, strained, trying to inconspicuously shove some of the mess behind the door and out of sight with his left foot, "any kind of interaction outside of an official judicial setting is highly inappropriate—"

 

" _I want in._ "

 

One of the bodyguards gives Yunho a pleading, desperate look, hands clasped in prayer.

 

The other one sheds a silent stoic tear.

 

Yeah.

 

No.

 

"If there's anything you need to discuss concerning the case," Yunho recites, hating Yoochun, because this is obviously Yoochun's fault, "please schedule an appointment with our secretary."

 

Changmin stares at him for a long moment.

 

A sudden chill sweeps the rooftop.

 

The sky darkens, casting a weird thin shadow behind Changmin.

 

A coyote howls in the distance.

 

And then the kid angrily moves to the window next to Yunho's door and tries to pry it open with his well-manicured nails.

 

What the actual fuck.

 

Unthinking, Yunho violently wrenches him off it, jerking him close to his chest and gritting out, "Ten minutes."

 

With a shuddering inhale, Changmin sniffs him.

 

*

 

There's nothing Yunho hates more than rude little shits.

 

And the rude little shit—as accomplished and impressive as he is on paper and on TV—currently shivering in disgust in his living room is the rudest little shit Yunho's ever met.

 

"I've entered the documents you submitted into the record, dated October 13th," Yunho explains patiently, still shirtless. "So I'm legally obligated to inform you that this kind of unreasonable behavior only serves to undermine your—"

 

"...there's a spider."

 

Yunho turns his head to look.

 

A fat hairy spider's chilling above Taepoong's wagging tail, spinning on a silken thread, suspended from a fairly impressive cobweb.

 

"Oh," Yunho replies automatically, "that's just our Junsu-yah."

 

Changmin meets his eyes.

 

He makes a face so strange Yunho considers petitioning the court for a drug test.

 

And then, wordlessly, the kid ghosts out.

 

*

 

Twenty minutes later, one of the bodyguards apologetically pushes Yunho's door open and ushers Changmin back in, then quietly closes the door behind him.

 

Yunho's in the middle of texting threats and obscenities to Yoochun, finally fully clothed.

 

So when he looks up and notices the spoiled idol he's currently in the process of suing is armed with cleaning supplies and bug bombs, Yunho's head just sort of turns to white noise.

 

"I can't talk," the kid says darkly, "until I fix this fucking mess."

 

He tosses a rag at Yunho.

 

Dazed, Yunho finds himself halfheartedly texting _I'm going to kill you_ , one-handed, behind his back.

 

_18:47 suck my—_

 

Yunho chucks the phone to the couch.

 

"You'll never get your security deposit back," Changmin chants to himself, clean, smooth voice sounding unusually outraged. "Who names their spiders." He bats at Yunho's crooked blinds with a spray bottle, offended and dismayed and lost. " _Why_."

 

...there's nothing in any of the law books Yunho's exhaustively pored over throughout his entire career that expressly prohibits a person he's served with a lawsuit from deep-cleaning his apartment while a pair of stressed out bodyguards wait stationed at his door, so Yunho shrugs, gently knees a confused Taepoong out of the way, and gets to scrubbing.

 

*

 

Oh.

 

Apparently, Yunho has hardwood floors.

 

*

 

"If me and hyung settle this case quickly," Changmin pants, bent over an entire new dog he's shaped out of the fur he's lint-rolled off the couch, "I want something in return."

 

Exhausted, Yunho rubs at his achy wrists, burying his face into his real dog's belly. "Please instruct your attorneys to draft a clause—"

 

"No," Changmin says softly. "You."

 

Yunho's so sleepy.

 

He's too sleepy and Changmin looks like a direct descendant of cute fluffy things but sounds like a bloodthirsty Hun commander, and this feels weirdly satisfying, to half-nap on Taepoong while a stranger sorts through recyclables and nags about combustible garbage—

 

"Whatever your request is," Yunho yawns, "I can't grant it without—or prior to—my client's express permission—"

 

"You."

 

"—nor can I unassign myself from this case to draft _your_ legal docu—"

 

Changmin straightens and stubbornly fixes his eyes on Yunho's, kinda swaying on his feet.

 

Weird, Yunho wasn't aware the kid had vertigo...

 

"No," he tells Yunho in a low, angry voice. " _You're_ the request."

 

Puzzled, Yunho sits up and rubs at his face, ignoring Taepoong's whine of protest. "You want me to work for you?"

 

Visibly frustrated, Changmin pauses.

 

"Yeah," he grunts finally. "Let's go with that."

 

Slowly, Yunho gets to his feet.

 

"Changmin-ssi," he says politely, looping an arm around Changmin's to guide him out before the sentry outside freeze to death, "I'm very happy with my current firm."

 

Cheeks dark, Changmin trips over a pair of slippers.

 

There's a sudden stupid urge to baby him but also the urge to go pass out, so Yunho gently taps his foot against Changmin's discarded shoes. "See you in November."

 

With quiet grace, Changmin crouches by Yunho's feet and slips on one shoe.

 

His left hand reaches out to grip Yunho's pajama pants for balance.

 

Yunho's stomach knots.

 

He glances down.

 

Changmin is staring at Yunho's crotch, eye-level with the slit.

 

Deliberately, he wraps long fingers around the frayed drawstring.

 

He shifts as he slips his other shoe on, knee flexing.

 

The floorboards creak.

 

And Yunho feels fire lap at his feet, like they're suddenly kindling, like there's a great big blaze engulfing him in a blistering kind of impossible heat, like Yunho's bound to a pyre—

 

"I'll see you _tomorrow_ ," Changmin corrects.

 

He doesn't rise, just gnaws at his bottom lip, pupils blown.

 

Inexplicably, Yunho's head instantly fills with just the most unimaginable disgusting twisted fucking things, thoughts that have never breached through before, a craving so urgent and needy he shakes Changmin off and kicks the door open with his foot.

 

Changmin rises.

 

A strange smile unravels from his mouth, as though his chapped lips are slowly unstitching in victory.

 

"No need to see me off," he says arrogantly.

 

"Wasn't planning on it," Yunho murmurs and closes the door.

 

 

*

 

He wakes up before sunrise, startled awake by a call from his disgruntled secretary.

 

"The plaintiffs are convening an emergency hearing at 9:00 AM," she drawls and adds, "I'm billing you for overtime."

 

Yunho groans into his sheets.

 

*

 

 

"Yeah... I'm not going," Yoochun says, pushing off in his swivel chair and spinning across the conference room.

 

He crashes his chair into Yunho's.

 

"We should both be present for every meeting," Yunho tries.

 

"Last time," Yoochun whines tiredly, " _you_ took off to watch some fucking anime—"

 

"...it was the season finale..."

 

"Hyung," Yoochun says, eyes downcast. "Let me skip this one."

 

Yunho considers for a moment.

 

There were a million and one reasons he wanted Yoochun on this case, but if this lawsuit's just gonna fizzle out unceremoniously like this anyway—

 

He scoots his chair away, palming the large round desk as he moves. "You promise to get an apartment?"

 

Yoochun grins.

 

Yunho sends himself flying across the room, bumping his chair against Yoochun's again. "You promise to stay?"

 

Amused, Yoochun opens his mouth.

 

"Gross."

 

Both of them snap to attention.

 

"I'm here for my settlement," Boa mumbles, leaning against the door, looking displeased, "not this gross crap."

 

Smiling, Yoochun waves her over and busies himself with a stack of well-worn music sheets.

 

"They're willing to grant you rights," he congratulates, "unconditionally."

 

Eyes wide, Boa dumps her breakfast to the table, grabs a chair, and wedges herself between them. "Can I have their yachts?"

 

"...unconditional rights to the _song_..."

 

Boa takes an angry bite out of something disgustingly oily and wipes her hand off on Yoochun's hair. "So they admit they stole it."

 

Surprisingly, Yoochun twitches. His fingers linger on one of the crinkled pages. "It's probably just a coincidence, but they don't seem to want to fight you—" he fends her greasy fingers off, ducking and dodging repeated attacks, " _no one_ wants to fight you, stop it, come on." He taps the pages, almost reverently, and ventures, "I don't think they stole your song. Per se."

 

"You _watched_ me write it," Boa reminds incredulously, turning to Yunho.

 

Which is true.

 

Yunho and Yoochun watched her write it in the library... instead of finishing her paper for their mandatory Professional Responsibility course and consequently quitting slash getting kicked out of law school.

 

Yunho's not sure irony's the right word for this, but...

 

"What matters," he points out smoothly, "is that it's over. We just have to meet with them real quick and finalize a—"

 

"—well," Yoochun interrupts hastily, rising. He shoves the music sheets into his oversized black hoodie and runs an oddly nervous hand through his loose curls. "Yeah. See ya."

 

And then he just bolts.

 

Boa turns resigned eyes to Yunho. "I'm not gonna ask."

 

Yunho smiles. "I never do."

 

Boa pauses.

 

"What's the catch," she asks warily. "Did they really agree to settle? I was kinda prepared for this to drag on for years."

 

"Typically," Yunho frowns, "that'd be the case but—"

 

"You worked your magic."

 

Yeah.

 

By letting an idol clean his apartment.

 

And stare at his crotch.

 

"You okay?"

 

...no.

 

Yunho is not okay.

 

But he pastes a bright smile and affectionately pats her head.

 

" _Hobbit_."

 

Changmin and Jaejoong and an army of depressed lawyers flounce through the doors like a small uncoordinated army, plastic leaves rustling in their wake.

 

"That's a hobbit," Changmin repeats, eyes narrowed.

 

Lifelessly, Jaejoong shoves him into the nearest chair and slaps an unwrapped piece of candy at his mouth.

 

"It's unfortunate to meet under these circumstances, Boa-ssi," he says unenthusiastically, collapsing into the chair next to Changmin and looking like a cat that's been left in the rain an hour too long. "Ah," he whispers woefully, "is... no one else coming..."

 

Boa tenses. "...it's... nice to meet you, too, Jaejoong-ssi...?"

 

Yunho tunes out.

 

Can't totally help it.

 

His skin feels tight. Like he's maybe in a horror movie and sprinting through the thickest fog in some haunted forest where a wendigo with a massive grudge is after him.

 

He tries not to look at Changmin but his gaze slips, involuntarily, accidentally, easily.

 

Changmin is staring at him.

 

His stare is strong, unwavering, eyes dark, fringe straight but soft, collar turned up.

 

Yunho can't look away.

 

"I apologize," one of the attorneys mumbles dejectedly, "our team hasn't exactly had time to review these terms and Changmin-ssi insisted on drafting parts of the proposal..."

 

"We can certainly adjourn for an hour if—"

 

"AN HOUR IS GOOD," four of the attorneys chime in at once.

 

So Yunho steadfastly avoids Changmin's eyes and excuses himself, trying to walk out of the room with the least amount of awkwardness possible.

 

_Are they gone_ , Yoochun mouths down the hall, half-hidden by a corner.

 

_GET IN THERE_ , Yunho gestures, annoyed.

 

Yoochun disappears.

 

With a sigh, Yunho casts one last glance into the conference room.

 

The team of attorneys is poring over documents, Jaejoong's cheek is pressed to the table, expression forlorn, and Changmin is staring out of a large bay window, face turned away.

 

Yunho hurries to the restroom.

 

He spends two minutes just staring at the urinal as though he's not entirely sure of its purpose, then scowls, unzips his pants, and shoves a hand in.

 

Distracted, he wraps his fingers around his junk—

 

The door slides open with the softest of clicks.

 

Yunho freezes.

 

"...fuck," Changmin breathes out, slumping against the restroom door, watching him.

 

Lightning-fast, Yunho quickly tucks himself back in and doesn't totally understand why.

 

With shaking hands, he starts to zip up, but Changmin is faster.

 

His fingers blanket Yunho's, dragging them down, knuckles brushing against the cotton of Yunho's briefs.

 

Stupidly, one of Changmin's solo songs—one that Yunho's saved to his phone—echoes between his ears, deep in his head, the high note purposefully chiseling away at his spine and shattering around his crotch.

 

"In an hour," Changmin says, voice hitching, jaw clenched, "when everything's signed, you gotta grant my request."

 

Yunho's the adult here.

 

Yunho's reasonable and sane and pragmatic.

 

But all he hears himself say is, "What's your request."

 

Changmin cups him, hard.

 

"Let me do you."


	5. Chapter 5

The world is a dark wretched place.

 

Freedom is an illusion, yachts aren't worth the upkeep, everything is getting worse, there was no syrup in Jaejoong's americano this morning, everyone's incompetent, the future is ambiguously bland, there's lint on his favorite coat, mankind is doomed to perish, misery is a mathematical constant, death and wrinkles are inevitable—

 

—Yoochun.

 

Ah.

 

Yoochun's walking by the conference room.

 

Yoochun's... walked by the conference room.

 

Yoochun's gone.

 

Jaejoong flops back down to the table, cheek smushing against a stack of legal forms.

 

...the world is a dark wretched place...

 

"If you're ready, Boa-ssi," one of the attorneys coaxes, sliding his pen across the desk.

 

Jaejoong watches it roll.

 

It doesn't matter.

 

It's Jaejoong's song, yeah, but Jaejoong has a bunch of songs. He has seven at the tip of his tongue right now, and the sooner all these unappreciative people are out of his life, the better.

 

"I'd rather wait for... at least one of my lawyers," Boa frowns, side-eyeing the exit.

 

As if on cue, the glass door slams open with a loud crack.

 

Yoochun bursts in, looking disheveled and frazzled and upset. His loose dark hoodie slips off one shoulder, baring skin and a curved dip above a sharp collarbone.

 

...it's not attractive.

 

"Don't," he commands with a low scary growl, angrily batting a collection of pens away from Boa. "Don't sign _anything_."

 

Jaejoong squirms, pulse wild.

 

"Yoochun-ah, what—" Boa starts with concern.

 

But Yoochun practically catapults out of the room, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed, lips a thin furious line.

 

...so unattractive.

 

"What happened," one of the attorneys asks, confused, but Jaejoong's already on his feet, casually slipping out of the room and poking his head into the hallway.

 

A bundle of messy curls rounds a corner so Jaejoong follows, unbidden.

 

*

 

...what.

 

What the hell is Jaejoong watching.

 

Why is Changminnie being molested by that other ladder.

 

...or

 

why are Changmin's hands cupping Yunho's pants, why is his mouth licking an insistent unapologetic path down Yunho's neck, why is Changmin _cornering Yunho in the bathroom_...

 

...fuck.

 

"Changmin-ah, NO," Jaejoong shouts with a surly, accidental, " _somebody_ has to be straight," and fuck everything, it better not be _Yoochun_.

 

"Hyung," Changmin argues hotly, damp around the collar. "This isn't gay. I'm just gonna do him one time."

 

Recklessly, Yoochun shoves Jaejoong aside, fuming. "Hyung—"

 

"No one's doing anyone," Yunho interrupts, voice a bit thick, pupils blown. "This is just a... misunderstanding." He pushes Changmin off with a quiet kind of fury. "But in light of these circumstances, it's best we assign new counsel to your case." He squares his shoulders. "And proceed with litigation."

 

"I stopped her from signing," Yoochun agrees, frazzled as fuck.

 

Yunho gives a small nod, fixing his zipper.

 

Changmin scowls.

 

"One of the senior partners can take over as soon as it's practical," Yunho says as though he's solved a basic math problem but...

 

...nope.

 

"Wait, I'm sure Changminnie was just—" Jaejoong defends hastily, spreading his arms in a conciliatory gesture because whatever Changmin did shouldn't affect—

 

"Hyung," Yoochun growls, "do you want to press charges."

 

Four kinds of alarm bells toll away inside Jaejoong.

 

Not because of Changmin's hypothetical impending incarceration, considering Jaejoong's pretty sure no earthly prison could actually contain Changmin, but because.

 

Because.

 

"Yoochun-ah," Yunho says kindly, meeting Yoochun's eyes. "It's okay."

 

Yeah.

 

*

 

Jaejoong has to see Yoochun.

 

To apologize for Changmin's crap.

 

Just to apologize for Changmin's crap from yesterday, nothing else, no ulterior motive, just bruised pride and damage control and uh.

 

Is Yoochun wearing a suit.

 

Yeah.

 

Yoochun.

 

Yoochun is wearing a suit.

 

It's form-fitting and shimmery dark gray, clinging to his hips and chest and his hair is down in soft black waves and there are sunglasses.

 

The cement under Jaejoong's boots cracks.

 

It's not 'cause Jaejoong's leveled with lust strong enough to obliterate this entire parking garage.

 

It's because of poor domestic craftsmanship.

 

Jaejoong's going to write a strongly-worded letter to the appropriate federal office, but first.

 

"Yoochun-ssi," he calls out, slinking out of the shadows.

 

Startled, Yoochun turns, almost dropping his car keys. "J—you."

 

A weird kind of displeasure bubbles up. "Check your wrist."

 

Automatically, Yoochun pushes a sleeve up with his car keys. A faded red stamp peeks above the cufflink. Jaejoong's name is still legible.

 

"Right," Yoochun concedes. "Jaejoong-ssi. For the time being, you shouldn't—"

 

"I'm sorry," Jaejoong cuts in, taking a step closer. "Changminnie has a messed up sense of humor. There's no need to stop working on our case."

 

"...okay," Yoochun says, unlocking his car. "Can't say it's been pleasant, but I have a date to get to, so..."

 

Unhappy, Jaejoong frowns.

 

"...with Yunho?"

 

Yoochun makes a face.

 

He lets out a small sigh, glances at his car door, then his phone, then reluctantly locks his gaze on Jaejoong's face. "I know what you're doing."

 

Jaejoong doesn't know what he's doing.

 

"I know you and that psycho have this dumb idea," Yoochun clarifies, tired, "that if you have sex with one of us, the case will be dismissed and we'll get disbarred."

 

What.

 

"But I'm straight," Yoochun says, "and Yunho's straight," he removes his sunglasses, "and we're not toys." His throat jerks, jaw clenching. "And this isn't a game."

 

Jaejoong's not sure if he's feeling offended or hurt or guilty, so he opens his mouth to say something.

 

Nothing comes out.

 

"Please either settle," Yoochun throws over his shoulder as he gets into his car, "or let the case proceed properly."

 

*

 

"I'll give you Changmin."

 

Yunho turns to stone.

 

"What," he blinks, looking up from his messy desk, appearing oddly unsurprised to see Jaejoong storming into his office.

 

"You can have Changmin," Jaejoong offers generously, "if you tell me where Yoochun-ssi takes his dates."

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," Yunho starts, expression blank, "this is really spiraling out of—"

 

"Please."

 

Yunho pauses.

 

"Shit," he sighs after a moment, ripping off a piece of paper. "Korea's gonna reunify."

 

 

*

 

Fine.

 

The girl's pretty.

 

But whatever.

 

Jaejoong signals his bodyguard to hang back and quietly slips into the booth.

 

It's romantically lit and really only designed to seat two and Yoochun's scowling like a choir of archangels just perished in a bonfire.

 

"Oh my god," the girl says as Jaejoong squishes himself next to Yoochun, "you're—"

 

" _Leaving_ ," Yoochun commands.

 

"OPPA, NO," the girl squeaks, trembling, "STAY."

 

*

 

Three rounds of drinks later and Yoochun's date is shamelessly offering to bear Jaejoong's children.

 

"Okay," Yoochun mutters under his breath, voice rough.

 

Jaejoong shivers.

 

"What do you want," Yoochun asks, unamused, while his date sends a flying kiss at Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong flicks his wrist to parry the imaginary heart away.

 

"I want to talk," he whispers, bringing his mouth unnecessarily close to Yoochun's ear. "I want to apologize. I want you to keep working on this case."

 

Under the table, the heel of Yoochun's shoe stabs into Jaejoong's boot.

 

"Fine."

 

*

 

"Did you look at my songs."

 

Yoochun crosses the threshold, weirdly spooked by the beautiful portraits decorating Jaejoong's hallway. "Yes."

 

Pleased, Jaejoong toes off his boots and beams. "And?"

 

"And I don't see what they have to do with our case," Yoochun shrugs, loosening his tie, tone strictly businesslike. "Defendant-ssi, my only job is to monitor your sales in order to settle future compensation and resolve any issue regarding royalties—"

 

"Did you like them."

 

Yoochun pauses.

 

"How long will you be promoting," he continues awkwardly and no, fuck this.

 

"I wrote them for you," Jaejoong says because it's true.

 

Yoochun averts his eyes. "Listen, I'm not falling for this. I'm not _like you_. I don't have sex with—"

 

"I have a girlfriend," Jaejoong defends. "I have three."

 

"That's... ethical," Yoochun deadpans, eyes dark.

 

No.

 

Why is this so difficult.

 

Usually, Jaejoong's conquests would be naked and lovesick and worshiping him by now.

 

Because Jaejoong is a religious experience, okay.

 

...not that Yoochun is a conquest.

 

"I don't want you to think I stole that song," he says softly. "That's all."

 

Yoochun studies him for a moment, then murmurs, "Why do you even care."

 

Jaejoong answers honestly.

 

"I don't know."

 

 

*

 

In the morning, Jaejoong makes a run to the studio to grab an old demo.

 

He means to just pop in and out but Changmin's at one of the desks, unmoving.

 

There are almost literal icicles hanging off everything around him.

 

Jaejoong inspects the corridors.

 

The wandering staff's bundled up in parkas even though the heat is on.

 

Uneasy, Jaejoong inches closer to poke at the frozen carcass.

 

"Hyung," Changmin says as though the universe has collapsed, "his apartment looks like it's been twenty years since civilization fell."

 

Jaejoong wrinkles his nose.

 

Apparently, Changmin's still in heat but Jaejoong doesn't exactly have time to get him fixed, so he falters, patting Changmin's unwashed hair, "Changminnie—"

 

"He named his spider," Changmin says, turning his head slowly, eyes dead.

 

"...and that's... attractive to you..."

 

Exasperated, Changmin slumps further across the table, law books as thick as his wrists littering the surface. "He said I was immature and entitled. Hyung. He _ignored_ me again."

 

Jaejoong's features soften.

 

"And now I'm not even allowed to see him," Changmin tells his hands incredulously. "I was only gonna do him once."

 

...okay, this isn't right.

 

Sure, yeah, Changmin's trying to disbar a very straight guy by having very gay sex, but clearly, Changmin is too spoiled and too sheltered and his ego's too bruised to process reality.

 

Good thing Jaejoong's nothing like him.

 

"...Changminnie," he suggests with compassion, "let's go get you a girl."

 

*

 

By the time Yoochun finally drags himself to Jaejoong's apartment the next day, the tabloids have exploded.

 

"I don't know why I have to suddenly _personally_ collect your daily sales numbers," Yoochun complains, arms crossed at the door, "but just give them to me so I can go home."

 

Dressed in an expensive bathrobe, hair wet, chest glistening, Jaejoong strikes a pose. "It may take a while."

 

"...I can literally print the numbers from any coffee shop, why am I _here_ —"

 

Exasperated, Jaejoong drops the act. "Did you not read the news."

 

Yoochun pauses, gnawing at his lip.

 

"I read about the plummeting Wii U sales..."

 

Jaejoong snaps.

 

Listen, he went to a lot of fucking trouble staging a wild night out, surrounded by beautiful women, throwing slightly less beautiful women at Changmin, being sexy and desirable, practically having a big red bow on his back and Jaejoong is a _present_ , okay. He's a gift to the public. He's loved and admired and idolized worldwide so why the fuck is he trying to impress some fucking stranger—

 

"...Defendant-ssi, your stove is on fire..."

 

Panicked, Jaejoong turns and stampedes into the kitchenette, flipping the heat off.

 

Yoochun shuffles in behind him. "Did your chef leave for the day."

 

Eyes narrowed, Jaejoong shifts to glare.

 

"I make my own songs _and_ my own meals."

 

Yoochun looks unconvinced, inspecting the burnt wreckage bubbling in the pan. "Right. So. Daily sales numbers..."

 

No.

 

No, fuck no.

 

"Sit down," Jaejoong says dangerously, palming the center of Yoochun's chest and shoving him at the counter. "I'll prove it."

 

*

 

Yoochun takes a slow, tentative bite.

 

It's just tteokbokki but it's the best fucking tteokbokki Yoochun will ever taste because Jaejoong is _good_ at things and he's done being underestimated—

 

"Oh," Yoochun says.

 

*

 

"Am I allowed into the building yet," Changmin asks, concentrating on his DS.

 

Vacantly, manager-hyung turns his head to stare.

 

The van tilts.

 

*

 

"Here for the daily—"

 

"Try this," Jaejoong greets happily, canting a pair of chopsticks at Yoochun's mouth.

 

*

 

A week of watching Changmin alternate between behaving like a vengeful god in need of appeasing and the tiniest lost puppy in existence, and Jaejoong's had enough.

 

"Stop it," he tells Changmin, lecturing him outside of the studio, "don't jeopardize our case just 'cause you wanna teach somebody a lesson."

 

The studio lights flicker.

 

"Hyung," Changmin retaliates viciously, "Yoochun doesn't even know your name."

 

*

 

Jaejoong's bone-tired.

 

A five hour photoshoot, topped with an hour interview, sprinkled with crabby hurtful Changmin, and Jaejoong's ready to just faceplant into bed and possibly consider an early retirement.

 

He gets off the elevator, sunglasses on, stomach empty.

 

There's a note on his door.

 

And a case of his favorite brand of soju on the ground.

 

_sorry_

_accidentally drank yours yesterday_

_have mine instead_

_sales numbers check out, thanks_

 

*

 

"The next hearing is in two weeks," manager-hyung sighs, wrangling Changmin into the fitting room.

 

"I'm over it," Changmin promises, one eye twitching.

 

"Good," manager-hyung warns, "because we've been flagged by the CEO and he wants this mess cleaned up by Christmas."

 

"I'm over it," Changmin repeats, shadow bouncing off the curtain with an ominous swish. "I'm so over it."

 

"If they reject the next settlement offer," manager-hyung cautions, turning desperate eyes to Jaejoong, "this case will drag on forever."

 

 

*

 

"Don't accept the next settlement offer."

 

"...how do you keep getting in here," Yunho says with a bored sigh, clacking away at his laptop.

 

"I'll give you—"

 

"I don't want him."

 

Jaejoong pauses to consider.

 

"I'll make him stay away next time."

 

Yunho purses his lips in thought.

 

*

 

"You know this is a piano, not a pantry, right."

 

Jaejoong gives Yoochun an annoyed look, serving a plate of snacks atop the piano lid. "It's decoration."

 

Yoochun makes a face. "It's a _piano_."

 

Shrugging, Jaejoong mounts the bench next to Yoochun. "Can you play?"

 

Yoochun lightly taps one of the keys. "Can you?"

 

"Like I said," Jaejoong grins shamelessly, inching his hips closer. "It's decoration."

 

Gently, Yoochun runs one hand up the keyboard and presses down on the pedal.

 

"Wanna learn?" he asks absentmindedly, ignoring the stack of sales figures by his side.

 

The melody is familiar.

 

It's one of Jaejoong's new songs.

 

Only slower, softer.

 

Jaejoong's ribcage does a thing.

 

"J—" Yoochun starts with a sleepy, thick drawl, grotesque ugly sweater checkering his chest. "Defendant-ssi, _do you_."

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong breathes. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

 

Eyes hooded, Yoochun turns his head slightly.

 

And smiles.

 

...oh

 

_no._

 

*

 

 

"Hyung."

 

Jaejoong takes a sip of coffee.

 

Misses his mouth by roughly forty centimeters.

 

"Jaejoong-hyung."

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

 

"JAEJOONG."

 

Jaejoong blinks owlishly at Changmin, wondering why there's a massive coffee stain on his... everything.

 

"...did you forget your own name..." Changmin asks apprehensively, silencing Jaejoong's phone.

 

"...I don't hear it much anymore..."

 

*

 

It's fine.

 

It's just a tiny bit of lust.

 

Lust is easily satiated.

 

This isn't an issue.

 

Everything's fine.

 

Jaejoong's fine.

 

Yoochun steps into the apartment, hair pulled into a loose messy bun, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, coat casually slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up.

 

Jaejoong's gaze drops to Yoochun's bared arms, hands, wrists.

 

The red tattoo has almost completely faded.

 

Yoochun glances down.

 

"Oh," he says and offers his wrist to Jaejoong.

 

*

 

"I'm over it," Changmin nods to himself. His teeth grind with a piercing scraping hellish noise. "So over it."

 

"...so, about the concert venue," Jaejoong tries for the seventh time, nibbling on a destroyed pencil.

 

Changmin runs a frustrated hand through his hair, shedding all over Jaejoong's meticulously laid out drafts. "There should be a trophy for being this over it. Hyung, get me a trophy."

 

"I'll get you one tomorrow," Jaejoong promises, "if you don't come with me."

 

Changmin's shoulders stiffen. "What."

 

"Just..." Jaejoong starts delicately, "I maybe kinda promised Yunho-ssi you wouldn't be at the meeting."

 

A lightbulb overhead cracks.

 

*

 

"They've accepted the settlement!" manager-hyung cries before Jaejoong's eyes have even opened properly.

 

Disoriented, he burrows into a warm hello kitty comforter and breathes into his phone screen, "What."

 

"You don't have to come in, it's over. It's over. And I still have a job, how do I still have a job—"

 

Jaejoong jolts up in bed, wide awake.

 

*

 

He runs into Changmin at the door.

 

"What are you doing here," Jaejoong asks with a sniffle, freezing his ass off in just a light jacket and a pair of pajama pants.

 

Changmin is pulling frantically on a door that says push, hair flat and beastly, house slippers still on. "Hyung, what are _you_ doing here."

 

"I..." Jaejoong starts but.

 

What _is_ he doing here.

 

"Hyung, okay," Changmin explains hastily, conspiratorially, letting go of the unyielding door, "they said the terms of the settlement have been accepted provisionally, okay. Okay."

 

Jaejoong doesn't know what that means.

 

"I'm practically a lawyer," Changmin translates with a haughty smirk, finally figuring out how the door works. They push into the lobby together. "It means the thing is subject to change."

 

"...and we're gonna change it," Jaejoong grins.

 

*

 

"Don't sign that."

 

Boa looks up, takes in the situation, then angrily flings the pen away.

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," one of the attorneys greets, sweating nervously.

 

"I didn't agree to this," Jaejoong accuses.

 

"We were assured you were in full compliance with the new proposal," Yunho starts and stands up, frowning at the assortment of shifty-eyed attorneys.

 

Inconspicuously, Changmin scoots closer.

 

"Yoochun-ssi has collected enough data for us to project a sufficient pattern regarding compensation arrears," another attorney offers, vomiting too many pretentious meaningless words, "and the company believes prolonging this particular action would permanently harm your image—"

 

No, Jaejoong thinks.

 

Because Yoochun's only taught him how to play four notes and that doesn't count because Yoochun's an idiot who can't actually read notes.

 

Jaejoong can kinda almost somewhat read notes.

 

So this case can't be over.

 

"I didn't agree," he insists firmly.

 

"Me neither," Changmin points out, having somehow stationed himself behind Yunho.

 

Yunho jerks, startled.

 

"...we can't proceed if all the parties are not in full agreement," he says with professional detachment, glasses slightly askew.

 

"Yeah," Changmin agrees, mortifyingly mellow, and awkwardly pats Yunho's shoulder, once, twice, three times too many.

 

"...is this how you negotiate..." Boa mutters, equal parts disgusted and impressed.

 

Next to her, Yoochun rises, expression unreadable.

 

"As usual," he says, tenaciously peeling Changmin off of Yunho, "it seems best to adjourn for the time being."

 

With a complete lack of enthusiasm, the group of attorneys mumbles a few choice expletives but slowly disperses anyway.

 

Boa follows, pissed.

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," Yunho says once they've all gone, obstinately ignoring Changmin, "we'll notify you by mail of any new hearing dates."

 

"Defendant-ssi," Yoochun adds with a slight shove to Changmin's sulking frame, "perhaps you should go... put on a shirt."

 

Jaejoong's brows knit together, a jacket button chafing against one frozen nipple.

 

He knows, he fucking _knows_ both of Yoochun's wrists are glowing red under that gross sweater, branded with Jaejoong's name, so why won't he just fucking—

 

"Say it."

 

A question mark flits above Yoochun's head.

 

"His name," Changmin supplies helpfully, hand instinctively sneaking to the hem of Yunho's suit and straightening the wrinkles out.

 

" _Defendant_ - _ssi_ ," Yoochun emphasizes, gathering papers, tone formal, "since your company has accepted my data, there's no need to continue meeting at your apartment—"

 

"...why were you going over to his place," Yunho blinks, dropping the formalities.

 

Yoochun's cheeks darken. "I was researching." Apologetic, he meets Yunho's eyes. "Obviously, I don't have to do that anymore."

 

Like hell he doesn't.

 

Jaejoong schools his features, tugs Changmin off Yunho, and commands, "One last time, Yoochun-ssi."

 

 

*

 

Yoochun hovers in the doorway.

 

His hair is dusted with melting snowflakes, his coat is way too big for him, and his scarf is just wrong.

 

"Hurry up," he says rudely, grumbling under his breath, "I'm meeting hyung for dinner."

 

"Come in."

 

"No," Yoochun murmurs, antsy.

 

Jaejoong grabs him by the scarf.

 

And devours him.


	6. Chapter 6

Just once.

 

What's wrong with doing Yunho just once, why can't he.

 

It's not like Changmin wants to sprinkle rose petals around a heart-shaped bed and light a thousand pink candles.

 

He just wants to fuck Yunho a little bit, heterosexually.

 

"You can't," manager-hyung says, blocking the door.

 

"I _can_ ," Changmin explains reasonably, "I know where he lives."

 

Manager-hyung sags.

 

 

*

 

 

"...yep," Yunho greets, resigned, and slams the door in Changmin's face.

 

But Changmin's come prepared.

 

Gone are the expensive sunglasses and the flashy leather jacket and the judgmental bodyguards. In their place, there's a nerdy hoodie and flat hair and a peace offering.

 

"I brought food," Changmin calls out.

 

The door cracks open.

 

Suspicious, Yunho inspects him from head to toe. "Where is it."

 

"I ate it," Changmin admits, somewhat guiltily.

 

The door shuts in his face again.

 

"I'm going to stay here," Changmin warns, leaning his forehead against the peephole, "until the paparazzi find me."

 

The door opens with a sudden jerk.

 

Changmin stumbles into the apartment, caught on a warm strong arm.

 

Startled, he clutches at Yunho's side for balance.

 

"If you're here to apologize," Yunho starts, tone icy.

 

"I'm not sorry," Changmin grins brazenly, fingers curling into Yunho's warm shirt. "I'm gonna do it again."

 

Yunho drops him, unamused. "That would make you a repeat offender."

 

Changmin lurches and shakily grabs at a coat rack, toeing his sneakers off.

 

"How is this offensive," he mumbles into Yunho's coat then rights himself with determination.

 

"...Changmin-ssi," Yunho inquires coldly, "are you familiar with sexual harassment laws."

 

Changmin's familiar with sex.

 

"Just once," he ventures calmly. "Let's just do it once."

 

Features darkening, Yunho clenches his jaw, offering a tightly-controlled, "Your unprofessional behavior aside, even speaking to you outside of a legal setting is a conflict of interest—"

 

"So there's interest," Changmin translates. "You're interested in me."

 

Yunho opens his mouth.

 

Closes it.

 

Victorious, Changmin breezes past him and claims the couch, arms and legs flung wide open with smug poise.

 

"No..." Yunho manages, delayed, and slowly turns around, brows knitted, "that's... not..."

 

"The couch is pretty clean," Changmin points out appreciatively and pats the cushion next to him. "Let's do it here."

 

Expressionless, Yunho stares.

 

Helpfully, Taepoong pads into the room, tail wagging, and folds himself across Changmin's feet with a soft satisfied snuffle.

 

"Look," Yunho manages, growing angry and intimidating, formalities dropped, "I won't pretend I understand this bullshit divide and conquer situation you and Jaejoong have going—" Frustrated, he gestures at the door, visibly losing control, "I mean, did you flip a coin? Are you so fucking bored you—"

 

"Say you're sorry for ignoring me," Changmin mumbles.

 

Yunho blinks, hand frozen mid-rant.

 

"Or let me do you."

 

Overcome, Yunho runs a shaky hand through his hair and crumples on the opposite side of the couch.

 

Taepoong briefly lifts his head to acknowledge him then goes back to nuzzling Changmin's toes.

 

"You're a child," Yunho says finally, head buried in his hands, elbows digging into his knees. "For five years, I—you're a _child_."

 

Changmin's twenty-seven and Yunho's tie is loose, collar wrinkled, shirt rumpled, buttons open, and this is like unlocking a new level or watching an unreleased episode and so Changmin reaches over and grabs at Yunho's sleeve.

 

"It's just sex," he shrugs.

 

Yunho turns to meet his eyes. "Not for me."

 

Scowling like someone canceled anime, Changmin gives a disbelieving, huffy, "What, are you saying you only sleep with people you're in love with?"

 

Yunho doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

 

Changmin pauses.

 

Because if he personally waited for—or believed in—love, he'd still be a fucking virgin.

 

With a condescending snort, he flicks his wrist in Yunho's general direction. "You're telling me you were in love every time you had sex."

 

"Yes."

 

A dwarven cavalry of darkness scrabbles through the walls.

 

Taepoong's ears perk up with concern.

 

Blinded by a sudden violent urge to track down these mystery women and retroactively dispose of them, Changmin tightens his grip on Yunho's sleeve, jaw clenched.

 

Fine.

 

Fine, so he just has to get this dude to fall for him first.

 

How hard could that possibly be.

 

 

*

 

 

"Hey, is that—" the delivery man bounces excitedly, craning his neck at Changmin.

 

Yunho grabs the steaming containers, stuffs some money at the man, and swiftly closes the door.

 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Changmin inspects his nails, innocence personified.

 

"You'll leave after you eat, right," Yunho asks for the ninth time, voice sharp enough to cut a lesser man in half.

 

"Sure," Changmin lies and rifles through Yunho's drawers for matching chopsticks.

 

Yunho's apartment is still relatively clean and his laundry's drying by the stove and... there's a tiny little _gone fly-fishing_ doormat nailed to the wall near a massive cobweb tucked across one ceiling corner.

 

"Did you..." Changmin starts, incredulous, "make... a welcome mat... for your spider."

 

Plating the coffee table, Yunho looks up with a quick unrepentant grin.

 

Numb, Changmin walks himself back and silently hands Yunho a pair of chopsticks, then instinctively clusters close, hip to hip on the floor, knees drawn.

 

Two wordless bites in and there's serious awkwardness.

 

It's deep and sudden and profoundly fucking weird.

 

Because Changmin doesn't typically eat with people.

 

Changmin's typically on a strict diet.

 

Changmin's typically not staring at a small fat mouth made to wrap around him.

 

Unthinking, he reaches out and clamps Yunho's bottom lip between his pair of chopsticks, mid-chew.

 

Yunho chokes and promptly bucks him off, face flushing attractively.

 

A grain of rice lands on Changmin's cheek.

 

Chest heaving angrily, Yunho coughs, " _Go home_."

 

Instead, Changmin helplessly tweaks Yunho's left nipple with the chopsticks, horrified at himself.

 

Yunho's leg unfolds with impressive speed and then he's roughly kicking at Changmin, the force of it driving Changmin across the hardwood floor, back colliding with the blunt edge of Yunho's couch.

 

Sighing, Taepoong ducks the incoming debris and stealthily drags himself away, tail tucked, one container held gingerly between his fangs.

 

"Accident," Changmin apologizes petulantly, rubbing at the throbbing ache below his tailbone. He can't seem to focus or think or rationalize so he jabs the sole of his foot at the coffee table, tipping an opened bottle of soda. The bottle slams into a plate, rebounds with fizzle bubbling out of its neck, and sprays all over Yunho. "So many accidents."

 

Furious, Yunho scrambles up and wipes himself down, chanting, "If I could just fucking unmeet you—"

 

Changmin follows him up.

 

"You have to wash it right away," he says and sharply untucks Yunho's shirt, yanks it up and out of the waistband. The material pulls at Yunho's pants, too, straining at his crotch. "So it doesn't stain."

 

Yunho's mouth opens in silent protest and Changmin means to reassert his good housekeeping advice but he covers Yunho's mouth instead.

 

Stupid, he kisses into it, coaxes Yunho's lips to open wider, and licks like he has a degree in lickonomics; gives a slow dragging bite and follows it up with a needy surprised moan.

 

Which isn't entirely heterosexual.

 

That thing, the thing that Changmin has, the vocabulary, vanishes.

 

Yunho slants his mouth, surging into the kiss like he's trying to answer a question Changmin didn't ask.

 

And then, suddenly gentle, Yunho pushes him off.

 

"None of my shirts are dry yet," he says, lost, pupils blown, mouth red.

 

"Yeah," Changmin agrees, baffled, because his lips feel wrong without Yunho on them. In a bewildered kind of stupor, he strips the shirt off Yunho, pulls the tie loose, lets it flutter to the floor, and he's contributing to Yunho's apartment being messy and gross, but Yunho's messy gross apartment means messy shirtless Yunho—

 

"They wouldn't," Yunho tries breathlessly, mostly to himself, "they wouldn't disbar me for this."

 

Changmin doesn't totally remember what the word means.

 

"Yeah," he repeats and cups Yunho with a possessive experimental squeeze.

 

A noise similar to a launched rocket splits the room.

 

Phone.

 

It's Yunho's phone.

 

Yunho's phone is ringing.

 

"I'm not going to have sex with you," Yunho insists stubbornly but doesn't seem to hear his phone blaring like the nation's under attack. "I'm straight."

 

Changmin is straighter, so much straighter, because, "Once is not gay," and because Yunho's letting him unzip his pants, letting him shove them down his tight little ass, letting him palm the twitching hardening bulge lengthening beneath his fingers.

 

"We're not doing this," Yunho grits out and shoves Changmin to the couch, then moves to loom over him, hands sinking into the cushions on each side of Changmin's head, one knee wedging itself between Changmin's spreading legs.

 

Changmin almost comes.

 

"It's a conflict of interest," Yunho says and unbuckles Changmin's jeans. "I don't have any interest in you."

 

Changmin grips Yunho's forearms, aching with a bizarre anticipatory pang, mortifyingly close to coming untouched.

 

The phone is ringing by his fucking ear but it's fine. It's fine. Yunho's pushing Changmin's thick hoodie up, long hot fingers sparking almost literal fire across his abs, and Changmin can fuck him soon and then all this bullshit will be out of his system and—

 

"You were going to leave after you ate," Yunho complains as though a whole pantheon of gods has forsaken him, tugging on Changmin's jeans with a tiny forlorn frown, and it's so fucking cute Changmin actually laughs like some giddy brainless idiot, brutally embarrassing.

 

The phone stops ringing.

 

So Changmin reaches out and shamelessly helps himself to Yunho's ass, pulls him closer, topples him to the couch, tucks him into the cushions, traps him against the backrest, mouth hungry.

 

The phone beeps once, softly.

 

Absentmindedly, Yunho paws for it, tangling his legs around Changmin's jeans.

 

Yeah.

 

Fuck yeah.

 

Changmin's going to do him like a girl; going to slick himself up in Yunho's mouth, take him from behind, fuck into him raw, hard, fast, bottom out and break him a little, and then he's going to be done forever. Going to just—

 

Yunho flips him off the couch.

 

"Fuck," he says and frantically reaches for his discarded pants, "fuck."

 

Disoriented, Changmin sits up, cock aching.

 

" _Fuck_ ," Yunho rambles and slips into a dripping-wet shirt, upending the entire drying stand. It rattles to the floor, metal frame bending, laundry spilling against the wood with a loud wet slap.

 

Unlocked, the phone slips to the floor, auto-rotating.

 

Anxiously, Changmin taps the screen.

 

_21:42 at the airport, going back to america. hyung. i'm sorry_


End file.
